


Homelands

by thebirdofthechapel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming-of-age, Crossover, Fantasy, Multi, Novel, POV Multiple, Politics, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebirdofthechapel/pseuds/thebirdofthechapel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiji has no choice but to play the game of thrones after he's mistaken for a Targaryen. Lancers fic. </p>
<p>(Rating and archive warnings are what you'd expect in the ASOIAF world.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. JON

**Author's Note:**

> “Why is the Targaryen bastard not dead yet?” the king asked.

It was left to Jon to give the king the answer he would not like to hear. It was not a convenient truth. A lie would have been a fitter choice.

“The boy has managed to escape, your Grace. Our soldiers say he has ridden off on the back of a winged beast.”

“A _beast_?”

“A winged beast. They claim it was a dragon, but all the fires were flushed out by the buffets from its wings. None have seen for certain.”

“And mermaids are all over Riverrun and dire wolves are tearing up our men. Seven hells, Jon, am I really hearing this from you?” Robert already had enough of rumors. He turned to the Master of Whisperers. “Lord Varys, what news do you have?”

The eunuch, dressed in his preferred attire of silken gown and ostentatious vest, leaned forward, his soft hands curled on his lap under the table. “They say it had six red eyes, your Grace.”

“Enough!” demanded Robert as he slammed a gloved hand on the table. “I must be dreaming. A Targaryen shows up from out of nowhere and my small council spouts fantasies like they were little boys again, and I'm the one who strikes any sense into all this. If a dragon were around, the entire Seven Kingdoms would have known by now. Villages would be burning, people would be burning; we wouldn't be sitting on our asses talking. Is any of our men roasted or dead?”

“All the men have been accounted for, though Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest has suffered serious burns,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, captain of the Kingsguard.

Robert dismissed the report. “He can dab it with some ice and live. A Targaryen with a real dragon would be razing King's Landing and taking the Iron Throne over my burned corpse, not running around in the Riverruns with dozens of largely uninjured men after him. Where is he now?”

“They lost track of him that night. But there are reports that he's been sighted passing by the blue fork, presumably en route to Seagard,” reported Jon.

“Seagard? In a day? How would he get there in a day from Riverrun?”

“He flew on a dragon,” said Lord Renly dryly, the king's younger brother, master of laws. Robert ignored him.

“Get the Freys moving. Have him launch his entire army for all I care. Just don't let the boy get any further north.”

“Why not?” asked Lord Renly.

“No Targaryen deserves to live a day longer, not while I'm king,” said Robert in deep contempt. “I want his head chopped from his shoulders and put on a stake for the crows. If they could take him alive, I'll do it myself.”

Ser Selmy appeared troubled. “Your Grace, we don't know the true parentage of this child. Rhaeger was not kind of man to to frequents brothels. I cannot imagine he would father any bastards,”

_Ah, Ser Selmy, do not broach that topic_. Rhaeger's honor was not as pristine in Robert's eyes.

But Robert couldn't care less of the whores Rhaeger may have or have not bedded with. Robert lived off carnal pleasure as much as a man need to draw his breath. Rhaeger's only mistake was choosing the woman Robert had been betrothed to.

“He has silver hair and violet eyes. Are you telling me that's not a Targaryen?”

“It does seem unlikely,” muttered Lord Baelish in agreement.

Robert tapped the table impatiently. “Fine. If he's some boy of unfortunate coincidence, then pay his family some gold when they come begging for justice. But Targaryen or not, I want his blood on my hands. Are we all settled, Jon?”

“Just a moment, your Grace,” said Jon calmly. “Regarding the Targaryen boy, I believe he would be more useful alive than dead.”

“Seven hells,” groaned Robert. “Not this again. You asked me to leave the two Targaryens across the Narrow Sea alone, and now you're asking me to keep a third one alive? I have my limits, Jon.”

“And yet we must persevere for the good of the realm.” Jon's lackluster blue eyes stared contemplatively on the tapestry of Seven Kingdoms hanging on the wall behind Robert. “May I speak my suggestion, your Grace?”

“Might as well get it over with. What crazy idea do you have in mind?”

Jon had known Robert since he was a boy and practically raised him. He, alongside with Ned, the lord of Winterfell, was a son that he never found within his own flesh and blood, in his sickly boy Robert, the namesake of the king. Jon was aware of how deep his hatred for the Targaryens went. It was the rift that caused Robert and Ned to fall apart during the rebellion. But Jon must do what needed to be done to run the realm. Robert's grudges was not take priority. Robert would understand. Sometimes.

“To the knowledge of the smallfolk, the Targaryen boy is the last of his bloodline. One of our lords – perhaps Lord Tywin – can keep him as a ward and marry him to a highborn lady. We can grant him some lands and wealth that can be satisfactory to the noble family. Perhaps the Martell may even be eager to step in the fold and offer their heir.”

“Marrying their own to the bastard of their son by law? I almost want to agree just to see that,” laughed Robert. “But we're talking about a Targaryen here, Jon. It hasn't been more than fifteen years since they sat on the Iron Throne for centuries.”

“I concur. A sad fate for the boy, but it must be done,” said Lord Varys with a mournful frown.

“It must be done,” repeated Maester Pycelle, nodding.

“It makes interesting plays,” pondered Lord Baelish, looking at Jon curiously. “But risky. I never took the Lord of the Eyrie for a risk-taker.”

“Lord Stannis?” inquired Jon at the quiet man.

“A living Targaryen would remind the word _usurper_ to the people and make the king's rule weak. But even a bastard can help strengthen it. That is, if he were a true Targaryen.” No one in the council had particularly expected an extensive comment from the Master of Ships. But Jon could see from the glimmer in their eyes that they had seen the best option a dead Targaryen would not allow them to have.

“He has the full features of a Targaryen. The details of his birth is irrelevant once the king recognizes him noble-born,” said Lord Baelish.

“A marriage with the princess? A clever move, brother,” said Lord Renly, smiling in an appraising manner. “Princess Myrcella is a few years too early for marriage, but the real concern is the queen. Lord Tywin may not approve for a strictly political marriage that brings no wealth either.”

Lord Renly was right. Jon had considered the possibility of uniting the Targaryen and Baratheon to make Robert's rule a continuity rather than that of usurping. If only the Targareyen boy had been a girl, then the marriage would have less precautions. His thoughts briefly wandered to Daenerys, the child carried by the last queen and born outside of Westeros.

Lord Stannis did not waver. “I wasn't talking of Robert's daughter. There is another Baratheon available. My daughter, Shireen.”

Robert dismissed the thought immediately. “We didn't take Dragonstone from the Targaryen to _return_ it.”

Lord Stannis' jaw tightened. “ _I_ didn't take Dragonstone to rule it. You won't have to give him lands and the Baratheon's hold on the Iron Throne will undoubtedly be stronger. It's a small price to pay.”

“On the contrary, it is _quite_ the price to pay... for you, Lord Stannis,” pointed Jon, concerned.

“Naturally, I expect a generous compensation,” interjected the Master of Ships.

Jon nodded. The council seemed to be in agreement with the decision, save for Robert.

“The Targaryen boy's not leaving King's Landing. He's not staying in Dragonstone or Casterly Rock, whoever he is to be wed. He'll be staying here until I say he can leave, and let me warn you in advance, that may be never. If he takes a single step outside of King's Landing, I will have every men mobilized to haul him back and drag him by horses, and it will be there in my throne room where I finish off the Targaryens once and for all.”

Jon nodded once more. “Thank you, your Grace.” For Robert to not outright disagree was the standard of success he wanted. Even Robert could not deny the sense of the action. This meant that neither Lord Tyin nor Lord Stark were to be the Targaryen boy's guardians It would have to be someone from within King's Landing. Lord Stannis seemed to not include taking the boy in before marriage as part of the bargain.

They are interrupted by the arrival of a messenger from Lord Edmure, who brought news from the Trident.

“And?” prompted Jon.

“They have seized the Targaryen in Oldstones. However, his three others companions had escaped. It appears he used himself as a bait.”

“Companions?” repeated Robert.

“Yes, your Grace. Three youths were accompanying him according to the innkeeper near the Red Fork. They briefly stayed there after their escape in Riverrun.”

“Continue the search for them, but the Targaryen takes priority. Escort him here. We will send knights to meet Lord Edmure's men halfway through. Ser Selmy, take twenty of the castle guards and see the Targaryen's safety for yourself,” ordered Jon.

Ser Selmy rose from his seat and bowed deeply, and departed briskly. Ser Selmy was the oldest and noblest of the Kingsguard who had served during the Targaryen dynasty. It should give him some peace of mind to be with the closest kin of his former liege, bastard or not.

“Finally.” Robert lifted himself from the chair.

“Ah, your Grace, Prince Joffrey's 12th nameday – ” started Jon.

Robert waved his hand. “You already know the drill by now, Jon. Throw a tourney. Get the boy watching some action, prepare food and wine, and put out rewards.”

He was hoping this year would be different. The reward and excessive wine made tourneys more expensive. But Robert wouldn't agree to throwing parties with the nobility.

“Your Grace, I ask that you – ”

Robert looked at him firmly. “No, Jon. I let you convince me to let a Targaryen live. I'm not staying another minute getting a headache on your requests. The Targaryen boy's coming, there's going to be a tourney, and I'm going to go out hunting. Decide on the rest of the details among yourselves.”

With that, King Robert left and the small council returned to normal. Catering to an absent king's wishes.

Lord Baelish was, of course, entrusted to find the gold they didn't have. Lord Varys excused himself, no doubt to hear the latest whispers of his little birds. Maester Pycelle bobbed his head and muttered incoherently the families that were to be invited. Lord Renly talked about participating – as he always had and lost – and Lord Stannis said no more besides his piece with the Targaryen boy. Jon adjourned the council when summer's heat was at its hottest and the curtains had to be pulled to properly see in the room.

By then, Jon knew that he was the man to ward the Targaryen. Robert would not trust anyone else to do it. In preparation, he spoke to Lord Stannis and made an agreement to dine when the Targaryen comes. They would hold back talks of marriage until the king and the queen were acquainted with him. He didn't know how soon Robert would want to meet the boy, or if he even wanted to his face, but the queen would want to introduce her children to a Targaryen. If she found him acceptable, there may be hope for a Targaryen to join the stags and the lions and connect three dynasties at once. The Martells remained distant in the far south, but Jon felt the progress was promising. They could not bring back Princess Elia Martell, but they could give them another Targaryen to wed in the future.

As he was about to bring the news to his wife, Jon realized that he had forgotten to ask for the Targaryen boy's name.


	2. SERENA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mistake in the last chapter; it should have six eyes, not three. The logistics was woefully wrong too. I've yet to rectify that but it should be fixed in the future chapters.

The talk of the Targaryen and his six-eyed dragon was wildfire in the town. Serena had more than once lurked by stalls to feign interest on the quality of fish and produce to catch the conversations. It had been nearby, they said. South, where the bannermen of the river lords rode at once with torches lighting the Red Fork like a marching mob. Travelers on the Kingsroad brought it as rumors first when it had been just a giant shadow, like how all tales and gossips of the magical begin. When more word came from the south, claiming farmers seeing a dragon, then people became more engaged to discuss the origin of the story. The rest of the conversations were muddled by jargon Serena could not piece together. “Blood of the dragon,” they keep saying, and in low tones, add, “the usurper.”

The vendor hissed at her with a nasty look when she had not stayed for more than ten seconds. Serena must not be as subtle as she thought she was, and being alone in a cloak with the hood draping over her eyes had earned her wary looks on every wall or corner that she lingered. She ignored the man – woman, she never bothered to look – and moved away only by chance when she didn't feel like listening to more stories. It had been interesting, but it helped her in no way of finding what to do.

She would go where her feet would take her and in circles it brought her into with uninteresting results. There were no schools, no parks; no open facilities that would make it easy for her to gather information. She remembered the streets but she could not distinguish the buildings. Most of the time, she could only surmise based on the rowdy voices leaking through the open windows.

And when she does enter, the eyes find her much faster. Her stay is always brief. A quick scan and she is given no reason to believe that a duelist is present, or the duel disk she had been waving around on her forearm would have gotten her the attention she wanted. She doesn't say a word or make the slightest eye contact, but when she turns to leave, Serena feels they would remember her the most.

At the port where there were the smallest ships she'd ever seen, rowed with dozens of oars by many men, a lanky woman covered in a glittery red robe had been staring at her from the corner of Serena's eyes. On the outside, she ignored her. Truthfully, the attention pestered her into an internal debate. There were even less things to hear in the harbors but there were at least a lot to see. She didn't want to leave yet. She didn't want to go back, cooped up in a room, seeing the familiar sight of a stretching sea through the lonely gaze of a window. She wanted to leave this town. She wanted to find Reiji and get to Synchro Dimension as they had planned. There were no duelists here or anywhere, she knew. There was nothing here for her no matter where she ran.

Serena hated the red woman. If she wanted to say something, she should speak up her mind. Unable to enjoy her peace, she stood up to make her leave. In that precise moment, a man, armored and armed like the men they'd seen on towns, gates, and roads, approached her with a jolly smile.

“Watching the ships again, my lady?”

Serena stared at him. The man was drenched in his own sweat that his face was glistening under the sun like the big blue sea. His face was mottled in red except on the large burn-like birthmark on the side of his forehead up to the temple, mud brown on a pale skin like a mismatched patching on a torn cloth.

“How fares your brother? Jord's daughter says he's still living off honey and water. How many days has it been? Three?”

 _Four_ , thought Serena. He talked about Kurosaki, though she didn't recall making a claim that he was her brother. He was the girl Ruri's brother, not Serena's. Was it Yuya?

“Who are you?” asked Serena.

“Of course, we've yet to exchange names,” the man told himself aloud, “I am Tristan Dogwood, a knight in service of House Mallister. I was one of the guards on the gate. Without the helmet.”

Serena remembered. “Which one?” On the night they arrived in the town, their legs and shoulders were aching numbly, and the hunger and thirst left them feeling as cold as a corpse. Since they came, the knights have been as inquisitive as the others, but they were more confrontational and did not stop at asking, as the chase that forced Reiji to split from them proved. The sight of another pair on the gates would have made them them wary, but they dragged forward and called for their attention regardless. Her unaccustomed eyes stung from the torch they brought out, but she forced them open to glance at her right. Kurosaki's head lolled to the side, his arms swung around hers and Yuya's shoulders, his chest inconspicuously rising and falling, and his face still as asleep as when he had fainted. One of the guards ushered them through. The other tried to leave them on the road.

Ser Tristan scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

“Never mind.” It didn't matter, she supposed, but maybe she would have thanked him if he had been the kinder knight. “Kurosaki hasn't gained consciousness. The doctor you sent us said he couldn't find anything wrong with him...other than the obvious...” It made Serena sad just thinking about it. Maybe it wasn't the window and its square of sea that she didn't want to see.

“The doctor? The septon?”

“Is that what they're called?”

“A man of the Faith, yes. Perhaps if you could call the Maester, your brother would have better luck.”

Serena's mind whirled. “ _That_ wasn't a doctor?”

Ser Tristan laughed. “What in seven hells is a 'doctor'?”

Serena ignored him. “Who is the Maester? Where can I see him?”

“The Maester of House Mallister is Maester Senerio. He serves my Lord and his family. If you wished to speak to him, you would need a letter of introduction... From a knight, another lord, the king...” Ser Tristan shook his head in pity. “Shouldn't have said it. Your brother will wake up. It may be in the morrow.”

Again, Serena ignored him. “So I have to go to this lord then? Tsk. Why weren't we told of this sooner?”

Ser Tristan's eyes moved behind Serena. The red woman came up to them, holding her slender hands underneath her bosoms. “Good day, Ser.”

“To you too, my lady. You seem familiar. A trader?” asked Ser Tristan, locating the crates behind her where she had been standing moments ago.

The red woman gave a very white smile. “From Lys. Westeros is my homeland though. The ship is my house and the sea is my land.”

“A woman on a ship? Asha Greyjoy isn't one-of-a-kind then. By chance, you're not Ironborn, are you?”

The red woman shook her head. “My father was a man of the North. He traveled through the Kingsroad once and met my mother. He never went back. Where in the North, I'm not sure. He talked only of snow and winter.”

Ser Tristan nodded in agreement. “That's what the North is. And weirwood and wolves. Apologies for the queer question. The Ironborns are part of the Seven Kingdoms but they made themselves enemies to it not too long ago, and we stood to protect the realm on the onset of their treason.”

“Greyjoy's Rebellion.” The red woman nodded. “I am aware. I've come and gone in Seagard for ten years, worry not. Patrek has become one of my recent patrons, in fact. Were you talking about him? I have overheard bits of the conversation.”

“Oh no, not at all.” Ser Tristan dismissed it quickly. He didn't want to bring up Serena's foolish idea. “May I have your name, my lady?”

“Gretel. And no 'my lady,' ser. I'm a commoner. See,” - she showed to him her right hand - “I'm missing a nail. There on my pinkie. No highborn to see, I'm afraid. What of you and your daughter, ser?”

“Daughter? No, do I look that old? Not yet five-and-twenty. Tristan Dogwood, my lady – Gretel. The young lady is Serina? Her and her brother have a mouthful of a name.”

“Serena,” corrected Serena absently. The castle must be where the lord was, and the maester Kurosaki needed. She had a feeling Ser Tristan wasn't going to be of much help. She turned to leave. “See ya.”

“A moment, Serena,” called Gretel. Serena halted and turned. “Where are you going?”

“To get a maester for Kurosaki,” she answered plainly.

“A maester? Hm, child, I'm not sure what your parents have taught you, but commoners can't ask for the services of a maester. They work for their lords.”

“I'll talk to the maester's lord. Is that all?”

Gretel touched her earring. “You really know nothing? Patrek is the son of Lord Mallister. The guards will not forcibly remove you if I make you my company. Unless you intended to fight your way in.”

Serena hadn't thought that far ahead but she would see it that it would be done anyway. But if there were a more convenient way, then she would take it.

“I'm in a hurry. Get a move on,” she ordered crisply.

Ser Tristan looked at her disapprovingly. “You're more of a lady than this one,” he told Gretel.

“Appearances are deceiving, aren't they?” answered Gretel, red in the face like her robes. “But I'm not the child's mother. A man would have hit her, especially a man from the North...”

When they came upon the castle an hour later, Serena had a sudden flutter of anxiety. They would have reached it faster had Gretel walked a lot less slower. She often vanished behind Serena to blabber with people, smiling with her white smile and in no certain hurry to end it. Serena impatiently waited from a distance until it became apparent that Gretel was doing it on purpose. It had been half her mind to go ahead and leave her behind. She was going to talk to the lord whether she was there or not. But... She had to remember it was for Kurosaki. If she did not succeed once, she was unlikely to succeed again. They would kick her out and could get Yuya and Kurosaki in trouble too.

Begrudgingly, she followed Gretel and made her distance from behind. Gretel's interruptions grew less and their walk remained uninterrupted halfway through. Serena didn't notice that she'd caught up to Gretel, or that Gretel had been walking by her side until the two of them shared a conversation for the first time.

“What's your brother's name again?”

“His name is Kurosaki,” said Serena, eyes straight ahead, her back straight, her shoulders even, and her hands curled into fists on her sides. “And he's not my brother.”

Gretel was intrigued. “Oh? He's not your lover, is he?”

“No.” Serena's answer belied nothing.

“Who is he then? Why are you going so far for him?”

She wouldn't call this as “going so far.” Wasn't this a natural course of action? “He's a comrade. Along with him, Yuya, and the others, we're working on a common goal. I...owe him something too, I guess. I want to repay him on behalf of what we did to him. I want to help him get justice.”

Was that how she felt? She never thought hard about it. Hearing it from herself was the first time she did. She might be avoiding a lot of things in her head. What point would it be to ponder on them if she could take action? Nothing in your head could become real unless you act on it. The Professor had been lying to her all these years. She would have none of lies anymore. She had found out the truth thanks to Yuzu, and she was going to do what she should have done years ago.

Maybe she should thank Akaba Leo for keeping her imprisoned in the castle. Had she known the truth, there would have been little she could have done about it. He considered her existence important. She could not say he viewed her opinion in the same light.

“It sounds like a long tale,” commented Gretel. “Did he give you that bracelet?”

“Huh?” One moment, she was thinking about Academia, and then, all of a sudden, a bracelet? She followed Gretel's intense gaze and lifted her wrist. “Oh, this? No. I've had it with me since I can remember.”

Gretel fell quiet, absorbed in the deep violet gem of her bracelet. “May I hold it?”

Serena didn't mind and handed it to her. It was just a bracelet, she thought. But why did she feel uneasy? When Gretel returned the bracelet, Seren realized she had been intently watching Gretel, not blinking or breathing. She tried not to put it back as hurriedly as she wanted to.

“Keep it with you at all times,” advised Gretel, still looking at her bracelet. “Never part with it.”

“Why?” she asked hesitantly. She didn't want it to bother her. It was just a bracelet.

“It's important, I can tell.”

Serena had forgotten about the bracelet when they entered Seagard castle. Gretel introduced Serena as a friend and hadn't lied about her intention to ask for the maester. The knights didn't pay Serena any mind. She didn't know if that were a good or a bad sign. Asking for a maester's help was apparently uncommon or had they been exaggerating?

Maybe there were more kind knights like the guard in the gate. The men were like the buildings of the town. Serena could not distinguish them by look or tell what kind of people they were.

“Are we meeting him now?” asked Serena when the squire had left to give the message.

“If he wished. I was not to see him until later, in the docks. He is not expecting me either. Just so you know, not many can have an audience with the nobility at a moment's notice. Perhaps only the king would have such right. I'm far from a king.”

Serena waited. The castle overlooked the sea much like the town, but from this height, she could see beyond the ships and watch a full view of the sky and the sea, imagining its depths of hundred feet depths where she would drown while the fishes swim with big balls of eyes and stupid open mouths. Having grown in Academia's castle, the sight had been the only thing she saw most of the time from her room. How should she put it? What she was seeing now was different. The sea looked brighter. Serena never saw the sunlight dance the way it did on the waves. There was something _freer_ about it.

It hadn't been long before the Mallister heir emerged into the room. She thought they were going to be summoned by the squire.

“Patrek will not see you.” The elderly man who entered was clad in gray wool robes. Though his skin was wrinkle and spotted, he stood straight and tall, his steps strong and steady. The man looked at Gretel. “Not until later, correct?” Gretel nodded.

“I need to speak to him now. It's been _days_. Kurosaki needs to see a real do – maester now,” demanded Serena heatedly.

“Hush!” hissed Gretel, sounding terrified.

The elderly looked at Serena evenly with sharp blue eyes. “So I've heard. To borrow the services of his maester, correct? You're not even from Seagard. You're one of the outsiders the castle guards brought in, along with some unknown illness if we're unlucky. Diseases oft get transported in port towns. Sick men in ships don't survive the travel, but rats survive, and stones and carpets don't cough. Lord Stannis lost all hope of marrying his daughter because of a doll. Did they thought it were safe if it came through the gates?”

“Kurosaki isn't sick,” said Serena. “But he isn't waking up...”

“You should have been contented with the septon then. Reciting prayers isn't a maester's job.”

Serena grew angry. “He's alive! He's breathing and we're barely keeping him alive! We don't know what happened to him – I thought he looked unnaturally tired but he didn't say anything. I thought it was strange, but I didn't ask. I didn't want to hurt his pride.”

During the first day they arrived, Serena confided to Yuya the same thing, minus the part with the pride. She felt guilty. Kurosaki was a battle-hardened veteran. She'd seen that herself. Between the three of them, Kurosaki should have been the last to fall.

The elderly looked at Serena sympathetically. “Come. You have to tell me everything you know. What he ate, which water he drank, when he started showing symptoms.” Serena opened her mouth, but the man raised a hand. “Not here. We do it while walking.” When Serena stayed nonpulsed, he rolled his eyes. “I _am_ the maester, child. Patrek sent me.”

Serena fought embarrassment as they made their way outside the castle. The maester refused a horse when a knight offered to get it summoned. “And break my back? I can still walk.” No one payed attention to Serena again, but she felt like the world had seen her stupidity and every person had heard the gossip. The maester hadn't asked questions yet. She swore not lose her cool a second time.

“Serena!”

Recognizing Yuya's voice, Serena searched for him from afar and found him running toward her. When he caught his breath, he appeared exasperated.

“Geez, what are you doing all the way out here? You've been gone for hours!”

“Did something happen?” asked Serena, secretly getting nervous. She'd finally gotten a maester. If something happened to Kurosaki... But Yuya smiled.

“It's Kurosaki. Serena, he's awake.”


	3. YUYA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention. I'll be using OCG/TCG effects, and not anime-only effects merely because I don't like the anime effects. They're purely too much for dramatic effects than strategy. Does this mean there's going to be card games? HMMMM.
> 
> Next, I'll be adapting realism for the hair and eye colors of Arc-V characters. Characters in anime don't usually literally have the bizarre bright hair colors they have. They're stylistic choices to express the character's personality. Here is the list:
> 
> Yuya: Auburn hair / red eyes
> 
> Reiji: Silver hair / purple eyes (unchanged)
> 
> Gongenzaka: Black hair / slate blue eyes (unchanged)
> 
> Sawatari: Blond hair / slate blue eyes (unchanged)
> 
> Serena: Chestnut hair / blue eyes
> 
> Kurosaki: Black hair / emerald eyes
> 
> Dennis: Red hair / blue eyes (unchanged)
> 
> Tsukikage: Black hair / black eyes
> 
> Reira: Black hair / dark brown eyes
> 
> It seems really odd that I'm doing this since I've let Reiji's slide. The main reason for these changes is for the plot. I don't want half of the cast to stand out other than their clothes, and features are way too important in determining bloodline in ASOIAF (eg. A Game Of Thrones.) Meanwhile, Reiji gets to have his design literally for the sake of the plot. Yuya also intentionally keeps his red eyes.

A familiar dawn did not rise without Jord's bellows of "Wake up! Move your asses, you lazy fucks!" Yuya was always the last and slowest, though he rose with everyone else all the same, stirring among the shadows of a blindingly dark room. He had been dreaming of Sora and Yuzu, but Yuzu was in Serena's clothes since she transferred to a different school. Sora resumed his old antics as Yuya had always remembered him with his lollipop stick, wide-eyed smile, and cocky jests. It angered Yuya, knowing they were lies, and he demanded answers on Academia. Sora was visibly upset, arguing, "You only won because of Pendulum" and Yuya recalled answering coldly, "that's good, isn't?"

He vaguely wondered why he was mean in his reply. There didn't seem to be any context to it. He had definitely been angry at Sora. Maybe more angry than he'd like to admit but Yuya decided that he didn't hate him.

By the time Yuya had finished feeding the chickens and horses, a bright, sun-golden morning had come to replace the dim sapphire landscape. Beside an upturned axe, he saw the bloodied rock they used to lay last night's chicken's neck on. Heyna was squatted in a gray, colorless dress with her skirt bundled between her thighs, her fist closed on the chicken's head while Yuya kept the body steady, holding it by its wings like a ball.

"It was an old butcher that we used to buy our meat from when we have the coin," told Heyna as she readied the axe on her free hand. "But he sold us spoiled meat. Father ate it and shat and puked that he couldn't work. So did my late Mother but she didn't live. I didn't eat much; thought it tasted funny. The butcher said it was an honest mistake. I believe him, but Father never forgave. He was fined then left jobless, and Father used that money to buy chickens and pigs to raise. Never to buy from a butcher again. You sure you don't want to do it? I've never seen a boy refuse the chance to swing an axe. Well, maybe if it were a sword."

"Just do it," said Yuya weakly, his feet shifting away, ready. Yuya had shut his eyes when Heyna brought down the axe, and stood so fast that he reeled backward, staggering to reclaim his balance. He bit back his annoyance when he heard Heyna laughing, but then saw her pointing at the headless chicken that was letting loose a violent spasm on its muscles, a gurgle of blood squirting from its bloody tip.

"Look," cried Heyna, tears on her eyes, "the chicken is dancing!"

After days of cheese, bread, and vegetable stew with bits of boiled egg, the chicken was a welcomed feast to his stomach. He slept full and contented, especially Serena, whom Yuya often had to share his bread with. She received the same portion as Heyna, which was half of what Yuya and Kurosaki get because "boys ate more." Proud that she was, Serena denied being hungry and Yuya joked he'd rather have Serena take his bread than hear her stomach growl in the middle of the night. He didn't know if he'd inadvertently made her mad, but she thanked him in a stern, hard tone regardless.

_It's about time for breakfast,_  thought Yuya. He came across Kurosaki with fresh water from the well, two buckets at once, one on his shoulder and another on his hand, when Yuya had struggled carrying one with both hands. Yuya had woken up to find out that Kurosaki had taken his chore, only a day of rest after he regained consciousness. Maester Senerio commanded at least five days of rest but no one but Yuya had been intent to remind Kurosaki. It fell on dear ears.

"Morning, Kurosaki," he greeted, smiling. He watched as Kurosaki's eyes moved up from staring at the dirt and to Yuya's face, and quietly comprehended him as if he were deciding on an answer. Kurosaki shifted his gaze forward and passed by Yuya without the slightest pause. Just when he thought Kurosaki had ignored him, the wind brought him a reply.

"Morning..." His voice was soft and quiet, a jarring contrast to the fueled roars that tore the stadium in his battle against Sora. Sometimes, Yuya wondered if they were the same person.

"Breakfast should be ready. Let's go eat," said Yuya, hopeful. When only the sound of rushing water answered, Yuya scratched the back of his head and made a wave Kurosaki couldn't see. "Serena and I will wait for you then. Bye, Kurosaki."

However, Serena hadn't waited. She sat alone with Heyna, eating bread with a cup of warm milk. He sat down with them and reproached Serena for eating without him and Kurosaki again. She dismissed Yuya with a shrug as she always did when Yuya complained. "What difference does it make?" she asked, unconcerned.

_I answered her before_. That, too, must have fallen on deaf ears.

"We eat nothing fancy," added Heyna. Yuya could smell the alcohol from her breath. "What's there to eat together with? Maybe if we had roasted boar with an apple on its mouth, better ale, pie...I don't know what they serve in the castles, but it truly would be the fitting feast."

"It's not about the food," explained Yuya. "No matter how delicious it is, you can't enjoy it alone."

"You talk like it's ale." Heyna drank hers empty. "Ale is good anywhere, but it tastes better with companions."

"Well..." He wasn't sure what to make of that comparison. He never drank. "Should you be drinking?" Heyna was "five-and-ten" which was fifteen in their dialect, a year older than Yuya. "What if your father caught you?"

Heyna shook her head in a loose smile. "He's a queer man. He doesn't like ale."

"Isn't that all the more reason not to?"

"What land would forbid drinking around queer men and women?" laughed Heyna, looking at Yuya like he was a fool singing while standing on his head.

"Yuya," spoke Serena all of a sudden. She had finished her bread and cheese, and probably her milk as well if the white beard lining her lips were any indication. "Didn't you complain about the food in the first night we came here?"

"What? Well, I didn't say it was bad," he hastily said, caught in the moment of surprise and confusion. Did he? He didn't remember. "I mean, I'm grateful. It wasn't what I was used to, that's all. I didn't say it was bad. The soup last night was delicious," he quickly added to Heyna, thankful that there was something honest he could say.

"He did, did he? Do you agree?" she asked Serena.

"Me? It doesn't matter what they taste like. All I can say is they're nutritionally more complete than  _this_." Serena's arms were crossed on her chest like her legs under the table, in the wraps of the cloak she had to don to keep Jord pleased.

Heyna's father had the wrong idea about Serena. Yuya had sputtered on with insistence to convince him. "There's nothing bad about it... It's normal for us... She's a kid like me and Kurosaki... Are you really going to leave her outside because of something like that?... You got it all wrong... She's..." When his reasons ran dry, he went to his knees and begged. A disgusted Jord relented and sent him off with a cloak at hand and a warning to pass. Outside, Serena was curled on a ball, her head buried on her knees. When she saw Yuya, she only said two things. She first asked about Kurosaki to which Yuya answered that they fed him some honey and water. Then she thanked him for the cloak, smiling, "it was getting a bit cold," she said, the first time he ever heard her joke, to which Yuya did not reply.

"So that's why I was getting attention," Serena had remarked thoughtfully when Yuya told her the truth. Yuya had the inkling she didn't understand what Jord thought she was. It was better this way, he thought, but Yuya couldn't help but be mad for her. Why wouldn't Jord listen? Yuya wouldn't lie.

Heyna had been more open-minded than her father, or so Yuya would like to think. They told her where they came from, how they accidentally stumbled in this dimension, their missing friends, Academia, and the dimensional war... Heyna listened, but... "Are the three of you highborn?" she had asked, and they told her there was no such thing in their world. She looked at their clothes. "Everything you have is dyed. Her hands are soft, too... Does your ship fly? Is there such a thing?" They told her no, told her again that they came through teleportation. "Tele...Tele-port-Tele-port – as in a port?" She repeatedly stuttered to get it right, which she did only to forget, so she asked them again. "Tele...Tele-port – ships and port?" They were hoping Heyna would communicate to her father for them, but she did no more than wash cook, and drink, and, once, – when Yuya overheard her talking to a knight on his way back from the well – correctly pronounce her foreign words.

"Did you have roasted boars with apples, mayhaps wine, and pie?" Heyna gaped longingly. "Every breakfast, lunch, and supper?"

Kurosaki appeared through the door, his eyes cast down again as if he did not see or hear the world around him. Quiet as a phantom, he sat down beside Yuya and reached for the bread, and cheese with the other. The conversation had died down then. Kurosaki's robotic silence seemed to steal the atmosphere every time he entered a room. He hardly ever make a sound or look at anyone in the eye.

"Kuro-saki?" The name roughly rolled out of Heyna's tongue. Kurosaki looked at Heyna, chewing. "I will be washing the blankets today. You can give me your sweat-er and it will be dry on the morrow."

Kurosaki broke eye contact, brief as it always was unless he were dueling. "No need. I will wash it myself."

Heyna glanced at Yuya. "Does he mean 'no?'"

Yuya nodded. "Yeah. He appreciates the thought though," said Yuya. "We don't want to trouble you any further."

"Him too? You should do the washing in the dark or in the stables. They think we've gotten new servants. A really expensive one." Yuya blinked when Heyna's eyes turned to him "'Pale as a maiden with skin glowing as soft as moonlight. But no tits.' A boy like that wouldn't be a servant, I told them. He would make better money elsewhere."

Yuya's face turned scarlet. It was  _one_  time, one mistake Yuya was never going to make again.

His shirt had been warm and dried overnight, the cleanest since he came to this dimension. So he'd taken it off and ran back and forth from the well, free to sweat without his shirt clinging to his skin and smelling in the afternoon. By his fourth round, when breads cooked in the public ovens and Jord's song of hammer and steel resounded from the forge, the many awake eyes were on him. The girls whispered, the boys gawked, and the men hooted ribald comments behind his back, though they were sure to do it while he was within earshot. He glanced around and saw half-naked workers and builders, but no one took notice of them.

Yuya had forced himself not to think about it for days.  _Smile_ , he had told himself,  _You've been laughed at your whole life. You have something more important to think of_. There was always consolation in the distance of which they whispered, gawked, and hooted. He didn't have to confront them. He just needed to smile and protect himself.

This was different. He was being humiliated, unfairly so, right in front of his face.

"Shut up!" he spat. He could feel Serena's gaze on him. Even Kurosaki's. "It's not funny!"

Serena arched an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? No one's laughing. It's not like it's a big –"

"SHUT UP! YOU DON'T – " He choked back on the rest of his words, anger dissipating from his muscles as Serena stared back at him with Yuzu's conflicted eyes. He could hear ringing in his ears and belatedly realized it had been the clatter of the plates on the table when he'd slammed his fists. Yuya thought he had muttered an apology, but it seemed he only said it aloud in his head. Heyna apologized ("Must be the ale") but it didn't make Yuya feel any better.

Yuya's sullen mood persisted for a while. Serena often accompanied either Yuya or Kurosaki with whatever errand they'd been tasked to as long as they weren't in the forge with Jord. But Yuya had not seen her for the rest of the day. She did not appear at lunch or at supper. Kurosaki had been absent at the supper too. Yuya had last seen him hammering in the forge – where Kurosaki was often at since he regained consciousness – trying to pass a squire's message on his lord's damaged shield.

"Did he say his lord's name?" he heard Jord ask.

"Redfort? He gave me his name," shouted Yuya over Kurosaki's loud hammering. "The squire. Domeric Bolton."

Yuya knew he had been on the wrong and thought of what to say to Serena where he sees her, but while brooding, resentment mixed in with his guilt.  _Why did she bring up the food? She brought it up all of a sudden._ Yuzu would probably do it too. If Yuya did complain about the food, Yuzu would have pointed it out to chide him for being a hypocrite, and Yuya wouldn't doubt her for it and stick his tongue out, guilty as charged. But Serena wasn't Yuzu. Yuya didn't know Serena.

Yuzu... Yuya felt agitated whenever he thought of her. He could not care less for his humiliation, for the dancing chicken, for Jord's unreasonableness, for Heyna's drunken chatter, or for Serena's insensitive remarks. She was alone in an unknown dimension, far worse than any of what Yuya was facing.

_Yuzu used herself as a bait so that Serena can talk to Kurosaki. What if...What if I never told her about Ute? About the Xyz, Fusion, and Synchro Dimension?_ He bit his thumb, sitting alone in their shared room. The room had been Jord's brother's who had eloped with a woman years back.  _I was the one who told her about Hugo. I told her he was a pawn of fusion, but Reiji said he fought the Obelisk Force. Was Ute wrong? Was Reiji lying again? No, even Serena agreed, and Serena wants to help Yuzu too. Then Ute was... then that means..._

What could Yuzu be doing now? What had she been doing in the days that he had been wasting in this wrong world? What if the Synchro Dimension was not that different from here? Did they call her terrible names and forbade her from entering houses? Yuzu would know what those names mean. She could be alone, lost, sick, and crying, missing her home, wanting to go back home...

He remembered now. He'd come to only realize it. At some point when Ute "attacked" Sawatari and Sora taught her Fusion Summoning, Yuzu hardly came by the cram school. A rift had opened between her and the principal with Yuya as the unwilling in-between. He'd seen her cry miserably, saying, "I don't know what's going on anymore," but Yuya only listened. She was having problems at home, he thought, so Yuya never asked.

_Should have I?_  He wondered to himself.  _Isn't it none of my business?_

Yuya had never seen Yuzu cry. It was Yuya who always cried. It was Yuzu who always smiled. She was always there. Whenever he ran away or walked out from an unpleasant situation, it was Yuzu who followed after his cowardly trail. When he was twelve, his mom said she cried for him too. Yuya hadn't believed her. As a child, Yuzu was always dressed in bubblegum pink, in skirts or dresses, twirling in place like a ballerina to make her skirt swirl like a blossoming flower. She laughed as often as Yuya cried. When he saw her giggling on the air on the principal's back, he thought of his dad and cried. "Dad," he overheard her sadly say, "Yuya wants a piggyback too." Yuya grounded his teeth and whipped his arms out when the principal tried to touch him. He screamed at him. He screamed at Yuzu. He ran away, a pool between his eyes and goggles. A long shadow covered him in the sunset where he was curled to his knees, thinking of his dad again. He thought his mother had come for him, stern but gentle, reminding him what his dad would say, but when he turned around, it was her, Yuzu. "I'm sorry," she said, as sadly as his eyes.

Yuya sobbed. He pulled his shirt up to wipe his cheeks. He would do anything to be with her right now.

He hardly noticed Serena enter the room. Too much time had passed in his head that he forgot the first words he had prepared to say to Serena. He slid his deck back to his duel disk. "Serena, is Kurosaki with you?"

"Kurosaki?" It was like she'd never heard of the name. "No... Did something happen?"

"Oh, no, not really." Yuya smiled to reassure her. "I didn't see him at supper. I thought you two were together."

"Is that so?" Serena took off the cloak and settled down on the floor under the window. She looked distrait...and her shoes were missing.

"I have a map," said Serena, rubbing her cold, dirty feet together. She showed him a large scroll of parchment before laying it back on her folded cloak. "I traded my shoes for it."

"Oh. That's great," was what he said, but Yuya was thinking how they could replace her shoes, or had Serena intended to walk barefooted until they return to Standard?

The door opened. Kurosaki swept inside the room as hushed as a cloud, but his face was containing a squall. He snatched his trench coat from the bedside, his jaw clenched tight.

"We're leaving. We've wasted too much time."

"Kurosaki?" elicited Yuya cautiously. Kurosaki was angrily pushing buttons at his duel disk, probably trying to get the teleporters active. They already tried that. Not even Reiji succeeded.

"If you two wanted to keep sitting idly, fine by me. I'm going. I've had enough playing this game of house."

"I agree," seconded Serena, rising to her feet. "But just to make it clear, we're looking for the others. There's no point in splitting up and trying to force things we've already tried to work."

Kurosaki threw his hands at his sides, a foot stomping as he turned away from them.

"What about Reiji?" Yuya sounded tentative, looking between Kurosaki and Serena. "What if he came looking for us?"

Kurosaki turned around brusquely. Yuya saw Kurosaki's eyes, the ones that have quietly looked at him and turned away. They were hard and solid, burning and never-melting, locked under sharp brows. "He's not coming back. Akaba Reiji was caught."

"Then they're – "

"No, those knights who were after us aren't here," interrupted Serena, thinking deeply. She looked at Kurosaki. "Am I right? It's starting to make sense. Why they were after us. Or rather, why they were after Reiji."

"That's correct," acknowledged Kurosaki. "It wasn't our alien appearance. It was  _his_  face. Silver hair and violet eyes. It is the face of a Valyrian."

"A what?" repeated Yuya.

"I don't know what a Valyrian means, but it has some sort of importance in this dimension. They've mistaken Akaba Reiji for one. With how long we've dawdled here, he might be dead by now."

Yuya's eyes widened into marbles.

"Maybe," said Serena, looking slightly troubled. "He might be the Targaryen I've been hearing in town. How a Targaryen is connected to a Valyrian is a mystery to me. They were talking about a dragon, too. Does Reiji have that kind of monster?"

"He uses a demon deck but I've never seen him summon a dragon. I fought him twice, and he was holding back in both..."

"I didn't see a dragon either," said Serena. "Though I can't tell if he had been holding back. He fought a veteran Academia warrior."

Yuya looked at Serena with surprise.  _Huh? What is she talking about? When did she see Reiji duel...?_

"But the demon family is notoriously diverse," she continued. "Dragon monsters are not necessarily of the dragon clan."

"Enough," snapped Kurosaki. "This classroom talk is giving me a headache." He reached for his duel disk, pushed buttons on the screen, and showed them the woefully wrong time on the duel disk: 9:44 AM. It was the same time on Yuya's and Serena's duel disks. "We leave in three hours."

"It's a full moon," warned Serena. "I have been thinking of leaving soon, but aren't you being impatient, Kurosaki?"

Kurosaki glowered at the corner of the room.

"If we don't leave tonight," he said, "I'll have to sleep with Jord's daughter tomorrow. Our only chance of sneaking out is  _now_."


	4. TSUKIKAGE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks! I had not intended that. So much rewrite and drafting happened. Starting new POVs is harder since you have to get things started right.
> 
> The drafting that happened led me to an estimate of at least 70 chapters, which is a normal ASOIAF novel. But I had not predicted how padded the beginning of the story is going to be. I don't want to mislead you guys, so I'm going to say that Reiji isn't going to be having his "game of thrones" until later in two or three months with my average posting speed. He will be appearing though. But not quite the centerpiece yet.
> 
> My draft's arranged in a few parts, which made me realize how better it would be had I made this a series. I'll decide when I get to Chapter 10. If I do, it would just be chopping it into multiple links for organization with the summary unchanged.
> 
> I try to update as soon as possible because POV chapters can seem really slow once there's a lot of things going on. I can feel all the patience that will be needed in the future xD
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter!

Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of his lord.

"Protect Reira," spoke Reiji-dono, a memory not too long ago. "Try not to intervene unless he's in absolute danger. He is always too afraid, but one day, he must decide to be brave. Then he must be even braver."

 _But I will find you first_ , Tsukikage swore to the stoic young man, the lord he and his brother had chosen to serve. Each time he told it to the memory, it kindled a new flame in him.  _And quickly._

A fortnight of swearing and unfulfilled vows had passed, a full moon coming into fruition in the sky. A sapphire landscape of a predawn painted Lys, but the sun that rose were the thousands of braziers of the red temple. Along it was the solemn Latin-sounding hymn, their monotone echoes following Tsukikage wherever he went, singing faithfully while he failed his duty.

The first time Tsukikage heard the hymn was in the first sundown he saw in this dimension. As the night had claimed its space on the sky, the torches remained like a remnant army of the day, rallying their powerful song and sending it deep within the belly of the city. There were men and women alike, some dirty, some clean; some with scarred and burned skin, some smooth and pretty. All, no matter how different, with the exception of the few and the foreigners, wore iron collars around their necks.  _P_ _risoners_. Yet they walked free along the streets, sweeping porches, buying fish, onions, honey, and bread; washing clothes, fetching water, teaching children; the free ones made merriment and perfumed their curly hair as they grow fatter in idleness.

 _Slaves_. The understanding had roused him.  _What a disgusting dimension we've come to._  It had pained him to have to turn a blind eye, but he had his own concerns to deal with.

The city was half the size of Maiami, twice its population, and ended in itself in all directions. Tsukikage had previously come upon Sawatari with no sign of Yuya, Kurosaki, Serena, Gongenzaka, Dennis, and Reira-dono and his brother about. If his fellow Lancers were not here, then he would have to prepare for what lied beyond the sea.

 _If only I_ _had fulfilled my job as his shadow. He woul_ _d_ _give_ _the word_ _and I_ _w_ _ould be_ _the hand to serve._

The slaves were unfailingly singing every sundown, praying as glum and dreary as he had first heard them. Had he any gods, he might be praying too. The island isolated them from the outside world. He knew so little. Confused, if he were to be honest, and that was what frightened him. There are blades lying in the darkness. All it takes is one strike...

_Perhaps it's I who must decide to be brave. But will courage lead me to you or to your brother, Reiji-dono?_

The face of his lord had one expression and was as quiet as the gods, if he ever prayed. He did not need answers, however. He needed results.

When Tsukikage rose again, only the blue of the moon remained to color Lys, the prayers gone and his stomach warm with rolling acid. He took a few bites off a granola bar and let a boy no older than nine or ten take the musty cloak he had used to blend in in the poorest districts. He was passing through an orchard when he saw, under an apple tree's crooked branches, a boy with short blond hair idling by the canals, checking the area as if in search of something. Someone.

 _He's looking for me_. Or rather, Sawatari was expecting Tsukikage to find him looking for him.

It had been by Sawatari's insistence that they split up. Tsukikage was fast, but he was still one man versus an overpopulated city. He had not considered of suggesting it, however, but since Sawatari had been assertive about it, Tsukikage had gladly taken him up of his offer. His thoughts had been on the Akaba brothers, as they were still now.

He went ahead and waited behind a corner in a deserted street that led to a dead end. When Sawatari neared, Tsuikage wordlessly revealed himself.

"Oh, it's you." A smile spread on Sawatari's lips. "Took you a while to show up."

"Did you find anyone?"

"Well, I'm alone, aren't I?" Sawatari held onto a smirk like he had told him a clever joke. His expression turned serious in a moment. "And you? I'm guessing you haven't had any luck either."

Luck. Was that what they were resorting to? You can't will yourself to be lucky no matter how brave you can be. "We'll have to set sail, but I have not heard of rumors," reported Tsukikage. "Until we have any lead, we'll have to bid our time."

"Yeah. I guessed as much with how long we've been here. Getting tired of the bread and fish, you know? And the  _smell_. The water's right there, but why do they stink? Their god should be the water god, not that fire god they keep praying to every dusk. Only the women here smell good, but all the men coming over smell terrible!"

"You were in a brothel." It wasn't a question. Nor an accusation. Sawatari had explicitly stated he did not want to get near the "icky places." It was not an honorable place to be, for sure, but it was of no value compared to what was at stake. Tsukikage had gone through the cheap and fastidious ones.

Sawatari's smirk was back. "One. I didn't touch or look at any of the whores – oh, don't give me that look, that's what they call them. If you say 'prostitute,' they're going to ask you what it means. It doesn't sound any nicer, if you asked me."

Tsukikage heard the trotting of a horse growing louder. He gestured to Sawatari to take their conversation elsewhere.

"Wait, not there. We're going back," said Sawatari. "Just follow me. Or don't you trust me?"

"I trust you," declared Tsukikage in a heartbeat. He didn't know why Sawatari had even asked.

"Oh – well – that was fast... Okay – " he turned around, "– It's going to look strange but you'll understand it's not what it seems in the end." Sawatari turned back. "You see, since we've split up, I—why can't you walk with me like a normal person?" A hooded red priestess steered her horse far from Sawatari, casting him a suspicious look as he slipped into Japanese and ranted at the air. Tsukikage watched him grumble from behind a chimney on a mansard roof across, waiting.

They returned to the orchard and turned right past the canals, down to a sloping alley that was black as night. An oxen cart was wheeling on the overpass above Sawatari's head. From Tsukikage's view above, he saw rolled carpets, bottles of dyes and wine, and tied up trinkets, one shaped as the naked love goddess of Lys. He slid to the side of a house, hanging by the windowsill, and traced the end of the alley with his eyes. For every few blocks, more houses light up with candles. A half-naked man waltzed out of a door, lifting a bottle to his mouth. Tsukikage's nose twitched as the wind mumbled. There's that good smell Sawatari was talking about.

"Here." He led him to the back. A mere foot behind them was another brothel, styled in the same wide and stony architecture as its neighbors. In the second floor, which Tsukikage could reach by just jumping, one of the windows had its curtains wide open. The room was definitely...occupied but Sawatari hadn't seemed to have noticed it yet. He put a plank leaning on the wall aside.

"Help me pull this out."

Tsukikage knelt down the bricked wall, recognizing what he meant.  _A secret passage_. The secret door was thick and heavy. Even with Sawatari's help, it took them several seconds to get it wide enough for them to pass. Not a door meant for quick escapes, thought Tsukikage. But it was harder to find from the outside, from anyone suspecting there was a hidden door. The thickness belied the hollowness.

"Sure is cramped here with two people," muttered Sawatari. The door was still an arm's length away when they stopped. Sawatari pressed his cheeks on the wall, cupping his mouth. "Princess! It's me, Princess! I've come back!"

The walls were hot to the touch. Where were they? Tsukikage's guess was the kitchen. If so, he hoped Sawatari's contact inside was alone. He was shouting without restrain.

"Princess! Ohhhh, Princess!"

He was enjoying it too, Tsukikage noticed.

Something heavy and wooden was dragged across the floor on the other side. Three of them were pulled out of the way before light peeked through the top corner and emerged to outline a door. He smelled cinnamon, roasted pig, honey-glazed lambs, steamed milkfish, and ginger broth. It made Tsukikage hungry, but not envious.

As torch-light poured in, Tsukikage saw Sawatari most comfortable in the cramped space. He carried a worry-free smile, making no effort to move other than to take the hand offered to him.

"I've returned, Princess," courted Sawatari beside the barrels and drew the hand toward his chest.

A small rabbit was being stuffed on the table with its chest slightly torn up from over-filling. Across it was a blackened pot seated on a fire, cooking a sandy brown stew. Chopped wood filled one wall and another had a cupboard of stone plates and tankards. Jade curtains sealed off an adjacent room, but Tsukikage could make out between its space from the floor a pair of worn sandals.

"It will be fine. The cook has bad hearing." The girl's accent was thick, but her fluency was palpable in the ease in which she spoke.

She stood shy behind Sawatari by his shoulder, her drooping head a foot above him. Scrawny like a twig, she reminded Tsukikage of himself during the first onset of his puberty. His hair had been like hers, long and sad around the awkward baby face that did not belong with the gangly limbs down below. Instead of raven hair, hers was gold, wiry like a filament, and seemed to strike out to prick like one. The comb-starved hair was the most accurate version of his younger himself. Years of hard training did not make for very neat appearances, but Sawatari's so-called "Princess," though calloused on the hands, was simply starved of a proper life. The collar and chain around her neck was the only proof needed.

The girl saw where Tsukikage's eyes changed, her deep blue eyes watching. "You are like Shingo. You look at my chain."

"My apologies," he murmured remorsefully. He had turned a blind eye out of duty, but he was not without sympathy. "Please do not misunderstand. From where I came from, slavery is evil. To see it so accepted here is..."

"But you do not come from Westeros?"

"No." Did they practice slavery everywhere else but in this Westeros?

She looked at Sawatari, the doubt clearing from her face. "So it's true...?"

"Would your prince ever lie?" asked Swatari smoothly. "We come from far away, so far and removed from this backward society that the word to describe it has yet to be coined. It surpasses the realm of your imagination that no explanation can shape its meaning for your people."

"We're not from this world," explained Tsukikage succinctly. On the contrary, he thought  _that_  was the explanation.

"Then where are you from?" she asked.

"Not from here."

"Are you from beyond the Wall? They say giants still live among the wild people—"

"No. We are from another world. We do not live anywhere in your map."

"My prince told me things, but I didn't really understand..."

Tsukikage bore his dark eyes on her. "We arrived here by accident with some of our other comrades, who we've been separated from. You may be of help to us if you cooperated."

She was doe-eyed. "How?"

"Answers."

"I'm sorry," the girl apologized at last, suddenly distraught. "I know not too many things. I know some things, like the Warrior-Queen Nymeria who ruled Dorne and the lady Black Swann of Lys. I know them by heart. I loved those stories so I listened to the mummers, my companions before I was bought as a slave. But I don't speak prophecies or magic. Mummers are fake. I know some of the tricks they use if you would like."

"What is your name?" asked Tsukikage as gently as he could. He could see Sawatari making a smug look.  _"I already tried that,"_  his face was saying. What story had he given the poor girl? Tsukikage only told the truth.

"Marran," she answered meekly.

"I am a comrade of Sawatari Shingo, Tsukikage of the Fuma Clan." He briefly exchanged looks with Sawatari. When he did not interrupt, Tsukikage continued. "I have a couple of questions for you, Marran. Would you mind answering them?"

Marran was as brittle as clay, looking more agitated.

"Princess, he'll probably ask the same questions I've given you. There's no need to be worried," assured Sawatari.

"Could he ask you instead? Please?"

Sawatari raised an eyebrow. "They're just questions. You haven't even heard of them."

"You said they were going to be the same," she said, panic at the edge of her voice as if she had been lied and betrayed.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." She gave Sawatari's arm a squeeze and hurried to leave, but Tsukikage was upon her before she could take a step. Marran jumped back, knocking Sawatari aside. Tsukikage wouldn't have regretted it had he not seen genuine fear quiver in the slave's eyes. Purple eyes, he realized, not deep blue.

"Hey!" barked Sawatari, barely stopping himself from falling over the barrels. He stole Marran's attention for a second, but she did not stay to help him. She circled around Tsukikage like a skittering mouse on the run. Tsukikage did not try to stop her the second time. He went over Sawatari to help him up. "Some guy was throwing the owner a feast tonight. You'll have to beg me for my share. My princess isn't going to sneak any for you. What was that about?"

"I'm...not sure." He had not paused to wonder the girl's peculiar behaviour. "Are you not aware either?"

"I was talking about  _you_ ," complained Sawatari, annoyed. "What's the point of asking politely if you weren't going to take a no for an answer?"

"She didn't give a reply." He knew that wasn't the respond Sawatari wanted to hear, but Tsukikage still wished he'd been able to give his questions. They needed to leave the city as soon as possible. Reiji-dono was expecting him by his side.

"I wouldn't answer a cryptic ninja either. She's a slave, you know that, right? They're submissive and uneducated. Throw them big concepts and they'll be overwhelmed. You've got that intimidating aura, too, not like me, who's easy and pleasant to have around. You scared her. Even saying you're my comrade isn't going to win her trust. Maybe I should do all the talking from now on."

Tsukikage, not knowing how to respond, did not say anything. Sawatari made sense, but somehow, he was difficult to understand at the same time.

"Anyway," said Sawatari, "let's move to the basement. There's another slave besides my princess. Well, she already saw me, but she's six or seven and won't talk. But it's too hot and noisy here. I bet you haven't slept in a bed either. I'll consider giving you mine – but just for tonight, since I'm kind."

"How did you come to this place, Sawatari?" asked Tsukikage, following him through an empty corridor that was narrow enough for only one file. They'd walked through the kitchen, passing right behind the partially-deaf chef.

"Hm? Well, I got hungry after a few hours we split up. I went looking for you and before I knew it, it was dusk. Have you heard the singing from the temple? It sounds like a dark ritual to awaken an ancient evil. But, I found out they're just barbaric fire-worshipers. They think they have to pray for the sun to rise. I won't blame you if it scared you.  _I_ was slightly spooked out by it, so I followed the road where it was bright and crowded."

The end of the corridor led them to an unfurnished room with three archways stretching to torch-lit corridors as narrow as the one behind them. Sawatari did not act cautious and marched across the room into another corridor. He either was very familiar with the activity in the brothel, or he was being careless. Tsukikage did not know the system of slavery, but he was certain getting Marran in trouble would not end well.

"Can you imagine the irony?" he regaled. "At the centre of the city, in its brightest and most beautiful is the lowest of the low, gathered together, indulging to disgusting mind-numbing activities, sometimes in broad daylight! No better than dogs. But I guess that's about what we should expect from their low-level civilization. I considered using my duel disk to subjugate this city. Maybe once I've become their king, I can take over this dimension." Tsukikage was listening, but Sawatari did not take his long silence well. "Are you still there?"

"Yes..."

Sawatari glanced over his shoulder, smiling to himself. "As you can see, I decided not to do it. Being  _king_  isn't my thing. I've got better things to do than rule." They were feeling the walls as they walked down the stairs when Sawatari had gotten bored of his own story and finally went to the point. "Long story short, my princess, Marran, saved me from starvation ever since you abandoned me. I owe my life to her, so be nicer next time!"

"It's as you said, Sawatari. I will leave the talking to you."

For a moment, Sawatari considered if it were sarcasm, but he figured Tsukikage was not the type for that. "Heh. I like you. You know how to listen."

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Sawatari took a torch to light another. When Sawatari offered his bed, Tsukikage thought there was only one available. But every side of the wall had one, except they were sculpted to it in stone, as did the accompanying pillow that was for the head. One bed was cushioned with blankets for some comfort. He assumed that was Sawatari's. The room was remotely more comely than a prison cell. 

Sawatari sat on his bed. He must be used to this by now. "So, what did you want to ask my princess? Since you listened so well, I'll listen to you."

"Information on the nearby countries."

"Cities. She said there are Free Cities in Essos, the continent we're in."

"Myr, Volantis, Braavos, Tyrosh, Pentos..."

"Qohor, Lorath, and Norvos." Sawatari was impressed. "You already know?"

"Names and stories," he admitted simply. He knew that there was a titan in Braavos, crossbows were made in Myr, Tyroshi men dyed their hair and beard, elephants were in Volantis, and Pentos had a ship styled in their coins. Anecdotes that made the dimension more colorful. He didn't need that sort of thing. "What of Westeros?"

"It's the continent on the other side of the Narrow Sea. My princess said it takes four days to sail it, but there are pirates up north. She said it's dangerous to sail alone."

Danger wouldn't stop them, but the inconvenience of a wrecked boat would.

"Also, it's called the Seven Kingdoms," shared Sawatari. "Which is weird because they only have one king, a bloodthirsty usurper from what I was told. Her mummer friends performed about him Pentos once. Robert's Rebellion. 'A mad king for a drunk king.'" Sawatari lied down with his arms folded behind his head. "Marran was ten before she became a slave. She remembers a good deal of her time with the troupe. When she told me stories of her old life, it got me thinking. It sounds the kind of life for me. Exciting, unpredictable,  _wild_. I should show this dimension real entertainment.  _Mummers_. They  _are_  fake."

"Sawatari, don't forget our mission," reminded Tsukikage. "Coming into this dimension changes nothing. Once we've reunited with the others, it's likely that Reiji-dono will have us continue to the true Synchro Dimension. Our being here does not improve our odds against Academia. We need the alliance."

"When are we leaving then? How are we going to find them? For all we know, only the two of us ended up here. You know what they say, when lost, it's better to stay put. That's what you said earlier anyway, didn't you? We're staying until we get any lead." When Tsukikage did not reply, Sawatari continued. "Sounds like we have a lot of time. I'll find a crowd to entertain in the meantime. Maybe my show will get so famous that kings and magisters will be talking about it."

The two Lancers fell quiet, broken only by Sawatari's soft snores and the burning of tar on the torches. Sawatari had saved his life once. He could trust him to do it again. Even though Tsukikage did not fully comprehend his actions, what mattered was they were comrades.

But why did he feel uneasy? He was a shadow, not the surface of a pond. He was not supposed to feel the emotions of his environment or else they would impede his performance. He'd never experienced this, not even when his brother Hikage fell on Shiun'in Sora's hands. Not even his quickly approaching doom before his face made his heart waver.

 _I don't need answers,_  he told himself, watching the fire lash out from the draft upstairs.  _I need results_.


	5. SERENA II

As they made their way out of the village, a stream of wagons, mules, travelers, and poor knights appeared below them, running like a single body of water flowing leisurely through Kingsroad, down the hillock they were on. Farther in the march, banners were fluttering underneath riders and carriages, which rode in a stricter, more orderly fashion. The banners were gray but Serena could not make up the emblem on them.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"Let's go find Kurosaki," said Yuya anxiously.

They found him lagging behind the tail of the gaggle of people and looking as vigilant as ever, ignoring Yuya who tried to call his attention. When they caught up to him, he spared Serena a wordless glance as he zeroed in on Yuya with a harsh scowl.

"You! Stop slowing us down. If you're going to get distracted, don't bring us down with you."

Any other time, Yuya might have taken the reproach timidly but he was still high-strung from what they'd seen before Kurosaki had left them.

"How long do you think we were gone? Hours?" retorted Yuya.

Kurosaki's eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't have come."

"You shouldn't have left."

"You shouldn't have come with us. You belong in that merry dimension of yours," he spat.

"Enough," said Serena, her patience still low from having to wait on Yuya. "I don't think Yuya should have gotten distracted either but it's done. Stop looking back on it." She gave Kurosai a reprimanding look. "Though I don't think you should have left either. Going on ahead without us. We could have been separated."

"You were taking too long," replied Kurosaki curtly. "A waste of time."

"It was only a puppy," said Yuya. "Who would do such a thing to it? Don't you feel sad? So many people have passed by it, but no one could be bothered to help."

Kurosaki straightened his gaze forward. "There was nothing we could do. If you wanted to help it, you should have given it mercy, not sympathy. A swift death and not tears."

"I know that..." murmured Yuya, visibly upset.

Serena didn't know what to say to Yuya. A part of her wanted to say that it was just an animal. Young, yes, but it wasn't as if it were a human being that felt emotions. She decided against it and let the topic go. It would be better to just put the incident behind them.

"Kurosaki, do you know why the road's filled up all of a sudden?" asked Serena.

"No. But it goes a long way in the map. It might be a popular route."

"I saw banners," said Serena. "A retinue?"

"That's what it looked like to me too. But we haven't ran into those banners yet. Seagard has indigo banners. The place we first came to..." He unrolled their map. "Riverrun had two colors: blue and red. There were others when we were running here," —he circled the red fork on the map— "but it was too dark for me to make them out."

Serena nodded. "I don't think we've run into gray banners. But just to be safe, we should keep a distance.  _Shit—_ " Her toe got caught on a rock, the rest of her falling over. She managed to grab onto Kurosaki's and Yuya's shoulders as she hopped one-footed to regain her balance.

"You okay?" asked Yuya, helping her up. Kurosaki steadied her on her left.

"That's the fifth time," she seethed. "Why is it so hard to walk all of a sudden?"

Yuya pursed his lips at Serena's bare, dirty feet. "You didn't hurt your ankle, did you?"

"I'm not  _that_  stupid," she snapped, sharper than she would have liked. But she did feel dumb, tripping all over small and invisible things like a useless klutz.

"The road's really rocky. You should be more careful."

"You're bleeding," said Kurosaki, standing behind Serena. "Your foot, I mean."

Serena gave Kurosaki a look. The comment was so out-of-place from Kurosaki's mouth that Serena began to doubt if he were the same person. "Of course that's where I'd be bleeding. Must have scraped on a rock." She held onto Yuya and raised her foot to check. "It's not that bad."

"It looks horrible!" exclaimed Yuya. "The skin's peeled off completely!"

"I don't feel anything."

"Not right now you won't. That's definitely going to get infected if we don't do anything." Yuya whirled to the convoy quickly leaving them. "Come on. Someone has to have some water we can wash it with."

They passed by people walking on foot. Most were traveling alone, but there were a few families mingling near the road. A cry of a baby was coming from somewhere inside the gaggle. Yuya was leading them to where the wagons were, assuming that the generous would be those with plenty of supply. The first man Yuya spoke to turned him down, but Yuya smiled and thanked all the same as he moved on to the next one ahead. When he saw Serena limping beside Kurosaki, Yuya planted a palm on his forehead.

"Kurosaki, what are you doing? Help her!"

"I'm not crippled," protested Serena, but Yuya was already walking briskly ahead, on a lookout for wagons. Kurosaki was looking at her, unsure, as if he needed technical directions on how to help a limping girl.  _I don't need help._  To prove her point, she increased her pacing and was allowed to walk on her own. She was glad that Kurosaki had not made a ruckus about it.

She wasn't taking as much attention as she used to. She was probably even gaining less attention than her fellow Lancers. Serena scanned the faces of the people in the road. A man was selling apples from his wagon, shouting loudly about pies too. Not too far from him was another wagon, filled with yellow hay where a blue-haired man was snoozing. Before she knew it, the apple-seller's voice had become distant and the crying baby was nowhere nearby anymore. They were getting closer to the banners.

Finally, a squire had lent his waterskin. Yuya profusely thanked the young man and used as little water as possible to wash the wound. He gently rubbed on the grime that had stuck on her heel for days as she sat on the grass on the side of the road, trying not to hiss in pain.

It stung more than she thought it would. When Yuya was about to rip the sleeve of his jacket, Serena stopped him.

"Use the cloak," she said, about to take it off.

Yuya considered it briefly. "That's been unwashed since you put it on. Don't mind it." With that, he pried a small tore on the sleeve and ripped it completely. He bandaged the wound securely, looking satisfied, and helped Serena back to her feet.

A mounted young man with long, ebony, pulled-back hair trotted toward them, looking at each of their faces. Yuya looked up and smiled. "Thanks a lot. Here, I hope you'll still have enough to drink."

"I have two more filled to the brim," the squire answered, taking the waterskin. "I was given more than enough to make it to Harrenhal. Ah, we have met before. I had my doubts. You've come a long way from Seagard."

Kurosaki tensed up beside Serena.

"Oh!" said Yuya, blinking. "You're the squire who requested a shield to be fixed. Domeric Bolton, right?"

"Aye. I heard Maester Senerio visited a smallfolk's house to check on a sick outsider. I was told they were a strange-looking lot. You three don't look that different," said Domeric. He looked at Yuya. "I thought you were the blacksmith's son."

"No, we were his guests," said Yuya. "He took good care of us."

 _For a reason_ , thought Serena. Still, the debt was not something they could repay. That was why, though tempting, they didn't nick a single piece of loaf from the family. She could have taken Heyna's shoes to avoid this situation all together, but she wouldn't have it. Neither could they have the horse Kurosaki insisted to take. With Yuya on her side, he was democratically beaten.

"Domeric, do you know where these people are going?" asked Yuya.

"Most are on their way to King's Landing," he answered.

"Why?"

"It's Prince Joffrey's 12th nameday in ten days, with a tourney held by the king in its honour. Some of the knights from noble houses are competing." He studied the three thoughtfully. Serena could tell that he was curios, but he didn't outright voice his questions.

"We're heading there too. We' think our friend is there," said Yuya. This was a man they didn't know, a man who knew they had come from Seagard. But Yuya was speaking to him normally with no precaution. "How about you? It's much farther than Harrenhal, isn't it?"

"It is," he confirmed, looking more thoughtful. "You're well-informed of your maps."

"Well...we have one, actually."

"The blacksmith declined our request, so we're on our way to Fairmarket to see a differen smith. Lord Frey happened to be on the road and had kindly welcomed us in his escort, though Fairmarket is not far."

"Ah."

Domeric raised the reins, about to signal his horse to turn when he remembered something. "Pardon me. I never caught your names."

"I'm Yuya. These are Kurosaki and Serena."

"What pleasant names," the squire said with an amiable smile. "It reminds me of Targaryen. They roll easily on the tongue like drinking Arbor wine."

At once, Yuya, Serena, and Kurosaki stood in alarm. Sensing their uneasiness, Domeric's smile vanished.

"Domeric, have you heard of any Targaryen's recently?" asked Yuya apprehensively.

Domeric gave a confounded look. "The only living Targaryens are across the Narrow Sea. I have not heard of them...if they are even alive."

"None? Are you sure?" Serena pressed on. "Then what were they babbling on about?"

"In Seagard," clarified Yuya, growing more anxious. "They talked about a Targaryen and a dragon. Do you know anything about it?"

"I have heard of it. My lord might know...but as it was a ridiculous rumor, it was not worth talking about. Perhaps you should make a turn to Riverrun where the rumor is strong, though I still find it hard to believe. The last dragon died 300 years ago. If there were truly a dragon among us today, there would be a sign."

"What's a Valyrian?" asked Kurosaki brusquely.

Domeric frowned.

"I'm sorry, but could you please answer our questions for just a bit more of your time?" pleaded Yuya. "I know it's really weird but we really need to know. For our friend."

"I'm more than glad to answer," said Domeric. "It's not often I am asked of the past, and that is because they are not usual talks, especially not with the smallfolk." His horse shook its gorgeous black mane. "The blood of Valyria is what runs within House Targaryen. Little is known of the Valyrians and their ancient culture. Their home has been destroyed by a catastrophe that swallowed Valyria in darkness to this day. Among its survivors were Aegon the Conqueror, his two sisters whom he had taken as wives, and the households he had brought with him to Dragonstone. With their dragons, they were able to subjugate most of Westeros single-handed."

"Do they look special?" Yuya pitched in.

"They're known for silver-gold hair and violet eyes. True, it is not a common sight in Westeros. The smallfolk may assume any who appeared with Valyrian features to be Targaryen, but there is a country across the Narrow Sea that has Valyrian blood running strong among its people. Appearances alone are not proof enough. Dragons, on the other hand, may be irrefutable. It may not even matter what blood you bear with a dragon to destroy your enemies. Many would bow without question."

"They're revered that much?" said Yuya.

"Not as much as they are feared," replied Domeric. "What can spears and swords do against a single dragon? And how long can you flee when horses are burned black in the blink of an eye? Men fear that which they can't kill. But they are gone. The era of immortal creatures and beasts have long been over. They went away with time, with magic. Only men and their invisible gods are left."

Kurosaki had brought them a cold apple pie for dinner. Before either Serena and Yuya could react, he told them he hadn't taken the money from their host in Seagard. "It was a fat woman," he told them, taking a shameless bite off his slice.

Yuya looked at the pie sadly. "It's still stealing."

"Hmph. Go ahead and starve then."

Serena sighed and picked a piece.

"Serena..." began Yuya.

"It's already right before us. We need to keep our strength."

They made their private camp not too far from the other travelers, but not near enough either to be part of their secured hold. The mounted ones had made it to the nearest village, including the squire Domeric Bolton, who had told them enough about the mysteries they heard of in Seagard. The most important one was still amiss. What dragon were they talking about? Had they mistaken Reiji for the one of the two remaining Targaryen? Even though they were supposed to be across the Narrow Sea...

_"King Robert has a deep hatred for Targaryens. Have you heard of Robert's Rebellion? Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped Robert's betrothed, Lyanna Stark, and raped her. Not everyone believed this story... Not I, nor King Robert's closest friend, Lord Stark, Lady Lyanna's brother. Lord Stark would never admit it with his lips, but he wouldn't speak against Prince Rhaegar either. The surviving Targaryens would not dare step into Westeros while King Robert sits on the Iron Throne."_

The other part of the puzzle was in Oldstones where Reiji had gone to let them escape. When they visited it, they found no sign of resistance. It was as if Reiji had willingly surrendered himself. He could have easily taken them out with Solid Vision. What stopped him?

_Or is this part of his plan? It can't be. He has no idea either of what's in store for him...for any f us here. Did they somehow overwhelm him? Reiji... Stay safe...This isn't where you would want to die._

After eating, Yuya excused himself from the group. They were tired from the journey and more exhausted than usual with the new information. But Yuya seemed more affected. He left them with a small smile but his eyes looked heavy.

Serena propped herself up, putting her arm on her raised knee. Kurosaki lied across her on the other side of the fire, crossed-armed under the sky.

"The dog this afternoon," she started. "It was killed. But not by Yuya. A knight came by. Said we should leave it and let the crows eat. 'Even crows have to eat.' They would eat it alive if they found it, so the knight drew his sword and went for the dog. The dog ran fast and I thought it was going to get away. But the sword was long. One swing and it nipped a chunk of the dog's neck. He pulled the head off and said, 'If the crows won't eat, then the man will. The crows can have the man later, so the crows still eat in the end.' I don't really understand why Yuya was so upset...but that manner of death... Even I think a dog deserved better. At least on the hands of a human, there should have been more..." Mercy? Serena eyed the stars. It looked like there were each one for all of them in Kingsroad in the sky.

Kurosaki didn't respond for a while, but she knew he was awake.

"And? Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his eyes still closed. "Do you want me to apologize?"

Serena had not looked back on it then, but now she remembered the copious amount of blood she saw. She was astounded, not horrified. There were so much blood for such a small puppy. It flowed and flowed that it seemed like it could fill a pond to submerge her feet in. How much blood inside of her could fill? Her ripped skin was superficial. Just a layer of replaceable cells that was part of a thicker compilation. But the piece of Yuya's jacket was completely red in less than an hour. When they replaced it with Yuya's other sleeve, it did the same. The bleeding had stopped considerably by tonight, but Serena had paused to imagine how much she would have bled if it continued for another day.

There was no need to spill blood with their kind of war. No one really got hurt. No one experienced physical pain as these people did with their swords and dragons. Not only that, everyone had the same chance as long as they had the heart for it. Man, woman, or child – as long as they held a duel disk and stepped in the battlefield, everyone was equal. But there were still many ways one could go down. Many unjust ways to be defeated, to be victimized by heartlessness. The level of technology they possessed had not overcome that factor of inhumanity. Akaba Leo's action in the Xyz Dimension had showed her that.

"Forget it," said Serena, lying back on the grass. "Do whatever you want."

The following day, they reached the village by noon and took a rest inside a pub to get their skin off the sun. Kurosaki procured them cheese and water. They'd forgotten to ask just how much he had filched from the fat lady.

Yuya was halfway drinking his tankard when he stopped. "Kurosaki, how did you and Akaba Reiji meet?"

"What is it to you?"

"Well...I was just wondering. He made you an LDS student, didn't he? Yuzu told me you and Masumi met." When Kurosaki returned a blank expression, Yuya continued. "You know... the girl who fought Yuzu. She used Fusion like her."

"Oh. That one." Kurosaki drank. "Our goals are similar so I struck an alliance with him."

"Yeah, but... has Akaba Reiji gone to Heartland or..."

"Akaba Reiji in Heartland? Who knows. I wouldn't be surprised." Suddenly, Kurosaki looked alert. "Someone's watching us."

Serena stood up, murmuring to Yuya, "Let's go."

They left the village in a hurry, the atmosphere tense. When they rejoined the mass making their way to King's Landing, Kurosaki could still not drop his guard.

"We're still being followed," he told them. "Stick close and get ready to fight."

Two days past, they reached Harroway safely with no movement from their followers. Kurosaki couldn't feel their presence anymore and warned them it might be a ruse.

King's Landing was just a couple of days far. The closer they get, the more dangerous it was. But now they were sure. Harroway had talked about knights from King's Landing coming. "Ser Barristan the Bold in the flesh," an old man praying in the sept had said. "I thought the Kingslayer would be with him. How queer it would be to see him with the man who killed his king."

Without a doubt, Reiji was in King's Landing.


	6. JON II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, right? You can forget what I said in the last author's notes. I did some massive reorganizing of chapters again. Reiji POV won't be until the arc's end but he will show up...like, right now!

His meekly squire poured wine in each five cups, starting with him, then with his lady wife on his right, to Reiji beside her, and, around the other side of the table to where Lord Stannis and Ser Davos sat, to do the same with his two guests. Hugh took a hesitant step back upon seeing Jon's cup already empty. He poured it half-full once more before backing to the wall.

"Lord Stannis. Ser Davos," said Jon.

"My lord," said Stannis solemnly, bowing his head.

"It is an honour, m'lord," said Ser Davos, bowing devoutly. He must be nervous in Jon's presence. Perhaps this was the first supper that Davos had joined in outside of Stannis'.

Davos was a plain man knighted by Stannis for his service in the Siege of Storm's End. Despite this, he kept to wearing a tunic over a doublet and a common green mantle over his shoulders. He was humble and proud of his lowly birth, though it had not been an honourable one. Stannis had personally seen to its justice. "He is a just and brave lord." Davos spoke of Stannis fervently for cutting his joints as payment.

_The man sells himself short._ _Few men are willing to exact justice_ _with_ _their_ _own hands._ _Fewer are willing to face it,_ _and who would_ _think_ _to find one in a smuggler?_ Jon had agreed that Davos would be a good judge of character, so he stretched out his invitation by Stannis' request.

Davos went on to acknowledge his lady wife and his ward. He'd been with Stannis long enough to know etiquette. "Lady Arryn. Reiji." Davos gave the boy a warm, bearded smile.

"A pleasure, Ser Davos," replied Reiji, not predisposed to return Davos' smile but courteous nonetheless. It matched him better in the golden doublet recently made for him, looking like a high-born as much as he sounded. He'd kept his neck garment though, Jon noticed. The strike of red with the bright honey was all the extra colour needed to make him look like a Lannister. Unintentional, he was sure. Perhaps only he had observed this.

"Have you and Lord Stannis met, Reiji?" asked Jon.

"No. I believe tonight is the first time."

"Lord Stannis is head of House Baratheon of Dragonstone, brother to the king, master of ships, and a veteran commander who held Storm's End, living on rats and leather while Mace Tyrell's host banquet within sight of their walls. He later crushed the Iron Fleet of a hundred longship in a decisive battle during the Greyjoy uprising. He's done great service to the realm, and to me." He took a sip of the wine, careful not to empty it this time.

"Oh?" Reiji looked at Stannis, unflinching before his cold, iron stare. "It's rare finding talent and character in the same man. You have my respect."

Stannis said nothing. "And you will begin by showing it," berated Davos brusquely. "He is your lord's honoured guest, an exceptional man of caliber, not your equal."

Jon watched Reiji's violet eyes swirl with curious contemplation. Outside of that, he was almost devoid of emotion. "Of course. My apologies, my lord." He bowed and raised his head.

"No matter," said Stannis succinctly. "Your meaning was kind."

Two serving girls arrived, bearing trenchers of roasted chicken, peppered with herbs and onions and accompanied by bits of white cheese and olives.

"Never been around lords at all, have you?" said Jon, picking at the chicken breast with his knife.

"No…my lord."

"Has anyone taught you the social graces?"

Reiji pushed the far-eyes on his nose. "It has been expected of me since I was a child. I make no excuses, but things were…different."

"Taught by your mother?" asked Davos.

Reiji picked up his knife. "Yes. As I've told Lord Arryn, my mother is still alive and well. Until now, she has been guiding me." He cut up the leg, sawing through the rich brown skin gracefully. "Though she had not been the one to give birth to me."

Davos was not as smooth with his knife, but not one paid attention to it. He tore the leg with his hand and ate. "Your father?"

"My…father had raised me alone." And because it had been asked of him before, Reiji added, "His name is Leo. Leo Akaba." He did not say more than what Jon didn't already know.

He peered at him above the cup on his lips. Still so cautious. Or a quiet one. Jon had been told that he spent his days in the library. Boys like that kept to themselves or were the constant company of particularly loud, boisterous friends.  _Like Ned with Robert. But Ned didn't surround himself with books. He was with the red-leaf trees and their eerie face carvings, praying to the old gods._

"Ser Davos," began Jon, "I heard you would be leaving on the morrow. Would you be returning in time for the tourney?"

"I won't, Lord Arryn. Lord Stannis has bidden me and other men an important task in Maidenpool."

"It seems I failed to pluck some weeds properly," griped Stannis with disdain, ripping the wings from the breast. "More slave traders from Essos are infesting our shores, right in sight of Dragonstone. We believe there's work being done from within."

"As it happens often," said Davos after a drink of wine. "Though my past shames me so, it is from my experience that a single gold dragon could win the cooperation of the guards and smallfolk. By looking away, they promise their family to know what food lords and ladies eat every day."

"They would sell their own people to a life of slavery for a moment of pleasure," growled Stannis.

"What brought them here in the south?" asked Jon, frowning. "It doesn't sound like a fruitful endeavor for crossing the narrow sea. Or have they become desperate for more slaves?"

"Slave trading plays much like ordinary trading, my lord. They go through specific routes to gather their wares. Large, organized ones come in the guise of common traders and make friends with the smallfolk. They don't share their secrets, but it helps to be trusted," explained Davos.

"Did you come to know of this from your old life as a smuggler, Ser Davos?"

"No," the Onion Knight denied strongly. "I brought goods unlawfully to keep all that I could earn and that's all I did, I swear on it. I did not condemn a man, woman, or child to death or evil for gold."

"He would have paid much more if he did," said Stannis, drinking.

"Ser Davos, might I ask what you have paid with?" asked Reiji.

And so Davos told him, showing him the short left hand that was proof he was a reformed man. "I bring the pouch containing the joints with me at all times. So that I will never forget. A reminder of who I was before I was blessed by Lord Stannis with a new way to live."

"Ser Davos kept us alive in Storm's End. But he still had to pay for his crimes. No one can be exempted from justice, or it would not be justice at all."

Jon bit through the tender chicken thigh, tasting the salt and honey it was bathed in. "You are a lot like Ned, Lord Stannis. He told me that a man who must take another man's life must look at him in the eye and do the deed himself. It is the least he can do to his fellow living. It was what he had intended to do with Jorah Mormont after he made a deal with slave traders. When Ned arrived in Bear Island to execute him, the man was long gone with his wife." Jon shook his head. He'd not heard it from Ned himself, but he could imagine how furious it made him. "I can't imagine the shame it brought to the Old Bear. Taken the black for his son, who ought to be in his place instead."

Hugh poured more wine into Stannis' cup. "The slave traders move from north to south. I hear they go further north, beyond the Wall."

"Greedy men," said Davos, his cup being filled next. "Gold is the blood that runs in Essos, m'lord."

"I'd expect nothing less from the land where the Iron Bank reigns," said Jon with a laugh.

"Braavos is a slave-less city, is it not?" pointed Stannis.

"Yes. You will not find a single slave in Braavos. You will find it outside – kingdoms and realms bounded with debts and favours for generations. Not many of us see the chains that lead back to the Iron Bank. Most of us refuse to see it."

The serving girls brought out the second course: a creamy shrimp soup with quail eggs, nuts, and herbs to close the stomach. Jon was discussing Petyr Baelish' divine work on halving the initial estimate of their costs when Reiji stopped the surprised serving girl and muttered something. The serving girl shook her head and nodded once before taking immediate leave.

"He earned his position and does me proud work," Jon was saying, getting tipsy. Stannis had taken a few cups but he was still as solemn as the silent sisters. "I've not come to regret making him part of the small council. I hope not. It would be another man I've put into power and couldn't bring down." At this, Jon felt bitterness spring from his chest. He emptied another cup. "I told Lord Renly to find Janos Slynt a replacement. I don't care what Robert says. That man has started a plague within the City Watch, and I had allowed it to happen. It has to be removed. If it were possible, I'd stand as commander and Hand at the same time. Even half of me would be sufficient to keep minimum order. Where had the good men in King's Landing gone to? Had it always been this way? No… Not with Tywin as Hand. When he were Hand. But at what cost? I knew the lengths Tywin would go through to make people fear him. Robert was not mistaken to pick me. What he did… The silent war he created that I…" Jon chewed on the nut, stopping himself, forgetting that Reiji was with them. Stannis was his confidant, the wrong Baratheon who should be sharing the burdens of the realm. Jon had tried to tell Robert of the crime Tywin did by murdering Rhaegar's children, but Robert's fight with Ned was still too raw for him to listen. Jon did not want to favor a side. They were like sons to him; they were brothers to each other. He'd told himself that he would wait a few years for Robert to mollify, but by then, he had become too drunk to listen to Jon's warnings.

_We could have had welcomed Viserys and Daenerys back. Instead, Robert chased them away, swearing to break their bones as he had slew their brother with his warhammer. He wanted them back…to kill them with his own hands._

He thought the years would make Robert's hatred fade. Not completely. Even by a fraction, Jon had prayed, it would be enough. But the long years without Lyana tempered it stronger. Is the same true for Ned?

Ned…If not Jon, then it would be Ned who could make Robert see. Had they made up? The kingdom needed more forgiveness. It could not stand together with enmity.

Jon drew a long breath and sighed. "Forgive me, Lord Stannis. I bring the troubles of the small council up to the table with you."

Stannis, a man known for being cold and friendless, looked on at Jon with sympathy. "The burdens of the realm are heavy. There is such a shortage of good men that a man of your advanced age cannot find comfort in entrusting them to the younger generation. My brother…"

Jon raised a hand. "You don't need to speak behind your brother's back. There's already too many who do. I've wondered if this were the gods' way of punishing me."

Stannis studied him carefully. "The gods?"

"The Faith is strong in the Vale, but never in my youth did I bend my knee to pray. It was my act of defiance. If the gods were so kind, why must we always beg for mercy and help? Do they enjoy seeing us so powerless? Do they want us to go through hardships so we could crawl to their feet? After the war, I finally saw the folly of my childish thoughts. Perhaps it's what the gods wanted me to realize."

"The gods have their mysterious ways," echoed Davos.

"I've been given a son at last," said Jon, smiling. "My lack of devotion has given him bad health, but in due time, I'm sure he would be as strong as your brother, his namesake."

"As do I," replied Stannis dutifully, his lips barely parting.

Later, after two more cups of wine, Jon had his squire summon the serving girls. He could feel Lysa searching his face for permission to leave as the bowls and spoons were cleaned up. Jon nodded at her sharply. Lysa was gone, barely excusing herself as she hasten to leave. Jon tried not to groan. His lady wife knew her manners better when they first wed.

Davos turned to Stannis. "M'lord?"

"Go."

Davos rose from his chair and bowed to the two lords, his simple mantle billowing as a cold draft pushed into the solar through the doors. The wind made the flames flicker, throwing the room in flashes of light and darkness. The hearth blazed strong across Stannis, keeping alight his iron expression and half of Jon's wrinkling face, while it buried the young Targaryen's impassive features in shadows. Reiji learned quickly and waited for Jon's command, his lilac eyes quietly upon him.

"You may go," bid Jon.

So he stood as well, bowing like Davos before leaving.

"Wait," ordered Jon. Reiji stopped by the doors and turned around. Jon's squire came to his side not to fill his wine, but to leave a letter on his hand. "A letter arrived from Seagard this morning. Your friends have left by the time the letter was written."

Reiji considered this information in silence. "I see."

"What do you make of it?" asked Stannis.

He regarded the Lord of Dragonstone curiously. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I wrote to treat them gently," Jon went on. "Ser Edmure is determined to find out what burned his bannerman."

"Ah." He finally realized. "I hope he finds his answers."

"Are you feigning ignorance?" accused Stannis. "The maester wrote that your friends are not more than children. Four-and-ten, two boys and a girl. One of them had not woken up for days."

"Friends? You are misunderstanding, my lord. I am not certain what prompted the notion, but I do not know those children more than their names and faces. We travelled together briefly and parted ways. It is not my concern what you do with them."

"Very well," said Jon. "Tomorrow, come see Ser Vardis after breakfast. He would see to it that you know how to swing a sword."

"As you wish."

"That will be all." Once Reiji was gone, Jon handed the letter back to his squire. "Leave us," he commanded. Jon stood by the hearth, tossing chopped pieces of wood into the fire. "What do you make of him?"

"I saw a boy with some manners and some lies. Why have you not questioned him more?"

"The same reason why Ser Davos had not," said Jon patiently. "It was a supper, not an interrogation. And as you said, he is a boy. He'll speak up willingly in due time." The nights were getting colder in King's Landing that no amount of wine could warm him. Jon offered the fire a few more wood. "You were not particularly inquisitive either."

"It matters not to me what kind of boy he is," insisted Stannis. "As long as he does his part. But is he truly of the right role? For even Robert to believe, I had assumed you knew at least the mother."

"You'd be surprised by how easy Robert believed it. He didn't even doubt it."  _He didn't care_.

"Who whispered it to you? Varys? Littlefinger?"

Jon sat back down and helped himself with more wine. "It was Varys. Ten years ago. There's a reason why I never told Robert. You know what he would have done had he known. Varys told me the bastard had gone far from King's Landing, living a comfortable life as an adopted son. He would continue living blissfully as long as he kept away from the truth, of which not many even suspected. I had wondered about it, once. A passing thought that I did not revisit again." He'd gotten Stannis' attention. "Ser Selmy was right about Rhaeger. He was not a man who frequented brothels. He had never laid his eyes on a woman other than his wife…save for one."

Jon saw the hardness on Stannis' face melt with the shock. It was not a sight one might see the second time.

"If you would not tell Robert, then what about Lord Eddard?" Stannis spoke in a hushed tone, as if the rats crawling behind the walls would speak of a secret.

"He has every right to know… I can trust him to not share it with another soul. It would be too much for the realm. It's one thing to be a bastard of a common tavern wench, and another to be the scion of two powerful houses, whether or not it's sacred in the eyes of the Faith."

"What of me?" asked Stannis. "Who am I to bear the burden of this secret?"

"A just and brave lord," he answered, repeating Davos' words. "A man of honour and duty whom I can trust. The Hand of the King's Hand. You are a great man, Lord Stannis. You deserved more than what people grant you with. Even the Targaryen boy saw it. Would you still give your daughter? His worth would have been greater if the truth were known…But for the sake of the realm…"

"I will what I must as my daughter would," declared Stannis stoically. "She would produce children that would fill the gap left by my brother's rebellion."

"And what would your family get in return? Lord Stannis, I cannot give you Storm's End. The king has already named Lord Renly as its protector."

"He can keep it." Stannis was barely able to control the acid in his voice. "I have no need for it. I do what I must not for lands or titles, but for duty."

_He still denies it in front of me_ , thought Jon, pitying the man. He'd of course been told how many times Stannis had tried to speak of it through the king and the queen. He would never openly ask for any reward in front of his peers.

"Someday, Lord Stannis, you will have what is rightfully yours," promised Jon, filling the Master of Ships' cup with wine. "You must not lose faith. Though the situation right now seems unpromising, the gods will always stand behind men of righteousness. Evil men, good men. They will all get what they deserve."


End file.
